


In the Dark and Wicked Hours

by rowofstars



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold in the Dark Castle, Cunnilingus, Dark, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 20:56:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20198059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: At night, the Dark One watches.





	In the Dark and Wicked Hours

**Author's Note:**

> So this is not normally my thing, but here we go anyway, my take on a "dark fic." There's some minor consent issues stuff here, but ultimately, they both want what's happening, it's just unspoken and weird. Rumple's kind of a creeper. For the Writer's Month prompt #10: dark.

The Dark One watched her.

The first time was the night he’d brought her here, to his castle high in the mountains, so far and distant from her home. She sobbed into her hands as she lay on her makeshift straw bed, but as soon as he opened the cover on the bars and peered in at her, she’d stopped. Barely breathing Belle watched him watching her, feeling his gaze creep down her body and fighting the trembling shudder that made her skin tingle. 

Her heart caught in her throat, her pulse thrumming and rushing in her ears. Would he come in her cell? Would he leave her to starve? After a few minutes, he closed it again and left, leaving her confused. She wondered what he wanted, or if he just found a perverse pleasure in her suffering. Perhaps he wanted her to suffer even more, to serve him in despicable, abhorrent ways that made her stomach turn.

The next day he let her out of the dungeon and instructed her on her duties for keeping the castle and serving him tea. It was all so strange, and there was a fear deep in her belly that one day his mercurial personality would change to something more sinister.

Nearly a year later, she had her own room on the third floor of the castle with a lovely view of the garden in the courtyard out one window, and the valley out the other. The incident from that first night never happened again, and their relationship had become more friendly. 

Rumplestiltskin was sarcastic and dry in his humor, and sharp with his words, but she found it more amusing than off putting. His gaze still lingered on her sometimes when she was preparing the tea, yet it didn’t unnerve her as it once had. She’d come to understand that he didn’t desire to harm her, only for a strange, comfortable companionship, the presence of another person that he’d been lacking for too long.

Until the day she was trying to open the curtains and let in the light. Her foot slipped as she yanked on the heavy velvet fabric, and in an instant she found herself tumbling backwards. Heart in her throat, her arms flailed, praying for something to grab, something to save her. Then it all stopped, and she found herself cradled in a pair of strong, warm arms. The look on his face was indescribable, filled with surprise and wonder, softer than she’d ever seen.

After that, everything changed.

It wasn’t the chill that first woke Belle. She had already kicked off the bed sheets herself, and shoved the blanket to the side. It was the odd, prickling feeling that crept down her arms, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She sucked in a breath through her nose, and caught the scent of something heady and warm, with a hint of spice. 

_Rumplestiltskin._

She forced her eyes to stay closed, waiting for him to move from the doorway or say something, but he did neither. Just as he had that first night, so long ago, he slipped back into the darkness of the corridor, and closed the door softly. Her heart was pounding and after several minutes, her eyelids blinked open and she stared at the door. It was like she could feel him on the other side of the thick wood, his gaze heavy and insistent. Her body shivered, and she pulled the blanket over her.

It was a long time before she fell back asleep.

From then on it happened nearly every night. She would bid him goodnight and go up to her room, falling asleep for a short time until something would wake her. Sometimes it was the sound of the door creaking open, other times it was the faint sound of his breathing, or the soft click of his boots on the floor. Early on he would stay in the doorway, like a parent checking in on a child, but after a few nights, he started entering her room, coming to stand at the bottom of her bed.

By the middle of the summer, right around the time she switched to wearing the lighter, silk nightgowns the magic castle supplied, his visits began to escalate. She nearly startled out of bed at the first touch of his hand. It was soft and light, barely anything through the sheet and knit summer blanket. Her body paralyzed with fear as she lay on her back. He let his blackened nails trace the length of her calf once, and then the blanket moved, drawing down from her shoulder to bare her arms and chest.

He let out a small gasp, and she wanted to open her eyes and see the look on his face. In her mind she imagined it was the same wide-eyed, awe as when he caught her in his arms. Beneath the silk, her nipples hardened. The cool air and the intensity of his gaze made her breathing increase, and she fought to stay still and natural, terrified of what might happen if he knew she was awake and aware of what he’d been doing. He might become angry or afraid, worse he might throw her out of the castle and send her home. Strange as it might seem, she wanted anything but that. Eventually, he waved a hand, using magic to cover her with the blanket again, and then he left.

From then on it was the same.

Rumplestiltskin would come to her at night and watch, easing the bed covers down to look at her in her nightdress. Always he made that little sound, always her body responded, her pulse quickening, the buds of her breasts growing taut, and slowly the ache building between her legs. It shocked her at first, that this strange game they were playing could leave her wanting and hot. Eventually, she couldn’t help herself, and after he would leave, she’d roll over and press her hand between her legs to touch herself in the ways she wished he would touch her.

During the day, everything was the same. They had breakfast and tea, and never talked about his visits, or the way he looked at her body while she pretended to be asleep. On occasion, she would ask how he slept, or sigh and lament that she had woken up a few times, unable to get comfortable. When she did, he had trouble looking her in the eye, and grumbled about how her tiredness explained why she was being lazy about dusting the library.

Maybe, she should have been angry or disgusted. Maybe she should have stopped it after the first time he came into her room. She told herself he just wanted to look, that he was lonely, that it he was too afraid to reach out in the daylight. But the secret was that she was lonely too, and that she had developed a deep affection and attraction to the Dark One. Every little touch, every incidental brush of hands, or gentle smile before he left the room inflamed her with need. His eyes felt like they could pierce through to her soul, yet they lingered so softly before every time he turned away that it made her chest ache.

In the light they had tea and tales of his travels, but in the dark, they had this, his eyes on her skin and the rush of blood in her veins.

One night, in the peak of the summer, she left the curtains open and the laces of her nightgown undone. When he came in, the moonlight was a comforting glow that spilled across the foot of the bed. She was facing away from the door and him, her eyes open for once, but she closed them as she lazily turned over. Her arm stretched up by her head, her palm relaxed and open on the pillow as she breathed, slowly and steadily.

The air was cool on her bare skin, even cooler against her breasts as he gently tugged the sheet down to expose her. She willed her body not to shiver as he brought it even lower this time, baring her legs to her knees. The light blue silk was bunched at her hips, covering her most intimate place, but only just. The laces of her gown pulled the fabric to the side, laying open over the curves of her breasts. He could see more of her than he ever had before. 

He didn’t gasp or grunt like usual, but his breathing picked up to almost panting, and there was a light scrape as he dug his nails into the footboard of the bed. She concentrated on slowing her breaths, on not licking her lips, on keeping herself from getting so wet she soaked the bed sheet. She failed at all of it.

Rumplestiltskin seemed to feel bolder this night. She felt his eyes trailing up and down her body and wondered if he was as affected as she was, if his cock hardened in his leather trousers while her cunt moistened itself and dripped along her thighs. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears as she felt the first touch on her bare skin, just above her knee. His fingertips were warmer and softer than his scaly appearance might seem. Her own skin felt flushed and tight, and there was a pulse between her legs. She had to grit her teeth to keep from rolling her hips into his hand. 

She risked taking one deep breath, inhaling his scent, so close and strong now, and he stilled. There was a soft, wet sound, and she imagined he licked his lips, his tongue always oddly pink against his green tinged skin. She wanted his breath, his lips, his tongue against her neck. She wanted it lower too, over her collarbone and chest, until he was as low as his hand was now. 

After a moment, Belle felt the bed dip.

He was beside her, one knee on the bed, the heat coming off of him greater than the open window. Her lips parted and her heart skipped, despite her desperate attempt to control her body. His finger traced a path up her thigh, and she held her breath as her sex throbbed with need. She ached to touch him, to pull his body atop hers and hold him there, but the possibility of ruining whatever this was kept her still.

The bed dipped again, and smooth leather brushed the outside of her knee. Rumplestiltskin was over her now, leaning down, daring her to sense him and move. Her throat felt tight and she wanted to swallow, but she couldn’t break the spell.

His hand left her, sinking into the mattress at her hip. Her mouth pressed tight and she shifted, letting her legs fall open slightly, and he gasped. She could feel his breath, ghosting over her and the smallest sound slipped from her lips.

_Belle._

Her name fell like a prayer from his lips, and she gave in.

Her eyes blinked open to see his face inches from the hem of her gown, close enough that he must be able to smell how aroused she was. He stared at her, frozen, and she finally licked at her lips, reaching for him so he wouldn’t pull away again.

“Please,” she whispered, and his eyes closed for a moment, squeezing shut, as she took hold of his hand and brought it to her thigh. 

When he opened them again, his lips curled back, baring his stained teeth. He must have meant it to be menacing, or even a warning, but her legs spread further, drawing his gaze downward. His fingers walked up to her hip, and her muscles twitched.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, lowering his face to breathe in her scent, rubbing the tip of his nose up to the hem of her nightgown. 

His eyes lifted to meet hers, and he grinned, the point of his tongue nudging his bottom lip. “The Dark One in your bed?”

Belle whimpered as he inched the silk fabric higher.

“Between your legs?”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her mound, through her nightgown, and she clenched her fingers, digging her nails into the sheets. “_Yes…_”

Rumplestiltskin bent his head and pushed her legs apart, his hands spreading over her thighs. Her fingers clawed at the bed as she finally felt his breath on her, his thumbs parting her sex. Her head tipped back against the pillow, back arching when his tongue followed, licking from her entrance to her clit. He groaned at the taste of her, his hands working beneath her backside to lift her closer. She slid her palm over his head, slipping her fingertips through his hair and pulling until he moaned again, sending a tingling vibration through her core.

She had thought about him doing this for months, his mouth on her, his lips and tongue dragging his name from her throat. But he was gentle, so gentle it was almost more than she could bear, the tortuous slip and slide. Her body writhed, her head thrashing against the pillow, her fingers curling and uncurling against the sheet as he lapped at her. It felt like he was kissing her in the most intimate place imaginable, and she bit her lip at the thought that they had gone from an odd sort of friendship to this without anything in between. She wanted him to kiss her all over, to taste herself on him and feel his arms around her again.

He hummed as he licked her, pushing his tongue deep into her as her back arched, pressing her cunt closer. Then he pulled back, sticky strings of his saliva and her arousal stretching between them. She cried out as he pushed two fingers inside, reaching deeper than she’d ever been able to do herself, and rubbing against something that made the spring in her belly coil tight. He took her clit between his lips, sucking as she tried to thrust against his fingers and his mouth at the same time, wanting more, needing him to give her the release she craved. She pulled her lip between her teeth as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. The most excruciating pleasure was just out of her reach, though she strained for it with everything she had. 

He looked up at her from between her spread thighs, his eyes hooded, his face shining with her juices as he slowed the motion of his fingers. “Beg,” he said quietly. “Beg for it, my beauty.”

His thumb came up to rub her clit, and she keened, pleading with every word she knew and pulling at his hair in her desperation. He returned his mouth to her, combining the motion of his hand and tongue, circling around her clit. Her hips lifted, muscles contracting, fingers grasping, and a strangled scream worked its way out from the back of her throat.

For a long moment, the world didn’t exist. Her body felt as though it was floating in warm water, loose and relaxed. The mattress shifted, and she forced her eyes open to see Rumplestiltskin standing at the end of the bed, watching her. It was almost as if it never happened, as if he hadn’t just given her the most intense pleasure of her life, and she’d dreamt the whole thing.

Slowly, he brought his hand up and sucked his fingers clean, as she tried to bring her breathing back to normal. She pushed herself up, the silk gown, slipping back down to her waist. Seconds passed, and she wondered what would happen next, if he would want more, if he would fuck her and make her scream again. The thought made her ache all over again, but instead, he turned without a word, and left her in the dark.


End file.
